


5 Times Peter Parker Saved Tony Stark

by madasthesea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Typical Violence, Depressed Tony Stark, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Claustrophobia, Mentions of alcoholism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Tony Stark, References to Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: And one time they saved each other





	1. from muggers

**Author's Note:**

> This story format is honestly one of my favorites, and I'm glad to see it's popular in this fandom. And there also seems to be a plethora of Peter needing saving (which I am all here for, I've read like all of them), but hey, Actual Superhero Peter Parker needs some love, too. So hopefully that's where this story comes in.  
> One small item of business; I fully acknowledge that the characters do canonically swear and stuff. But I don't, and I don't like writing it, so if it seems like they swear like a suburban mother of three, that's because that's how I talk. Hope it doesn't bother you guys. I'd love to get your opinions! Enjoy!

 

i. from muggers

 

Tony Stark rarely walked anywhere, even within New York. First, it really was a _very_ large city, and he didn’t have the _time_ and he really didn’t enjoy showing up wherever he was going sweaty and/or freezing, depending on the weather. Second, he was Tony Stark. That tended to draw attention from those around him, and he hated being handed pieces of paper to sign and having to stop to take pictures when he was trying to get somewhere. Third, Happy didn’t allow him to go by himself, and while Happy wasn’t technically his body guard anymore, sometimes you had to pick your battles, and this wasn’t a hill Tony was ready to die on.

Which was all a very long way of saying, the chances of catching Tony Stark walking alone down the street one fall evening, hands shoved in his pockets as he meandered through Queens were incredibly, absurdly tiny. The chance of this happening on a night when one of the nearby side alleys was occupied by either the bravest or stupidest group of muggers in New York was even smaller, practically microscopic. And yet, here Tony was, suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun with one eyebrow raised.

He didn’t take his hands out of his pockets as the muggers began shouting at him to put his hands up and give them his wallet.

“I don’t carry a wallet. I’m told it ‘ruins the lines’ of the suit or something,” Tony said, eyeing each of his four assailants with a practiced gaze. Even without his armor, he could probably take two of them before they fired a shot, which just meant dodging the stray bullet that would inevitably be fired by Mugger #3 while taking down #4, who was only armed with a knife. The only problem would be that #3 had a semi-automatic .22 caliber pistol, and would likely be able to get a second shot off before Tony got to him. Maybe he would wait and look for an opening.

“Get your hands out of your bloody pockets right now,” Goon #2 snarled at Tony, who finally consented with a roll of his eyes. If Goon #1 would take just one step closer to Tony, he would be close enough for Tony to grab his gun and divert it while activating his wristwatch repulsor.

“Just out of curiosity, have any of you watched the news in the last like… seven years? Cause I feel like you would be making different choices right now if you had,” Tony asked. He could see the flare of animalistic anger behind the leader’s eyes and prepared himself to make his move.

“Wow,” another voice called out loudly and Tony’s heart stopped. “Is that Tony Stark?”

Tony was both tempted to roll his eyes and shout at the _idiotic child_ currently swinging down from the roof of the apartment building Tony was facing to _get the heck out of here_. The muggers were equally distracted by the red and blue streak coming towards them, enough so that two of them aimed their guns at him.

Spider-Man, being the self-sacrificing moron he was, webbed the one that was still aimed at Tony to the wall. The other two opened fire as he swung over them.

“I’m a huge fan, Iron Man,” Spider-Man called down. Tony’s knees were a little wobbly, but he managed a dry, “Thanks, Spidey.”

The muggers, instead of being daunted by the fact that the odds were now two superheroes against four run-of-the-mill punks who had made terrible life choices, seemed to just get pissed off that their mugging was interrupted. One fired at Spider-Man again before he was webbed to a lamppost.  

“Are you guys fans, too?” Peter asked as he suddenly dropped to the ground between Tony and the remaining three. “Are you trying to get his autograph?”

The dude with the knife lunged, but Peter seized his wrist, twisted until the man screamed, and then kicked him into the wall of the other side of the alley, where he slumped, moaning.

“Oh, wait, no,” Spider-Man said, webbing both goon’s guns and flinging them down the alley. “Those are _guns_. Are you idiots actually trying to _mug Iron Man_?”

Peter moved so fast he was almost a blur to Tony, but suddenly Goon #1 was clutching his obviously broken nose, while his companion was webbed to the wall.

“How dumb can you get?” Spidey asked before spinning around to face Tony. The white lenses narrowed as Peter seemed to look Tony up and down before asking in an almost hushed, anxious tone. “Are you alright, Mr. Stark?”

“Fine,” Tony scoffed, brushing invisible dirt from his suit jacket as he tried to subtly take calming breaths in an effort to slow his traitorously fast heart. “Though I must say I’m disappointed in the stupidity of criminals these days. _Honestly_.”

Peter huffed an unconvincing laugh as he finished tying up the last of the muggers, leaving them for the police to find. Satisfied that they wouldn’t get away, he turned back to Tony. There was moment of silence as they stared at each other, and then Tony sighed.

“Come on, Happy’s just a couple blocks away.”

Peter followed him to the car. He had asked why Tony had been walking around Queen’s alone, but Tony had simply said “adult business,” and they had walked in rather strained silence the rest of the way. Tony felt a little bad—Peter had just stopped his imminent mugging, after all—but Tony couldn’t really bring himself to tell the kid that he’d been passing through town and had stopped to come visit him, but had chickened out and left without saying hi.

They reached the car, and Tony opened the door and told Peter to climb in, ignoring Happy questioning why the kid was there and wearing his Spider-Man suit. He slid in after Peter and shut the door.

“Mask off,” he ordered. Peter obeyed, cheeks turning a little red as Tony watched him, examining him closely. Peter’s jaw was clenched, and his fingers kept gripping hard at his mask and then letting go as if he was forcing himself to relax.

“You broke his nose,” Tony observed mildly. Peter winced a bit. “You don’t usually hurt people.”

“I… yeah. I just sort of… I was a bit distracted,” Peter stuttered out, “and I kind of forgot to hold back, but I swear I didn’t mean to and I never do that normally and—”

“Kid, you’re talking too fast, I can’t understand you.” Peter clamped his mouth shut. “It’s ok, I’m not mad, just… wondering.” He didn’t ask whether Peter’s distraction might have been the fact that Tony was the victim he was saving, rather than a stranger. There was a twitchy sort of anger in the way Peter was holding himself.

A long-ignored snippet of information floated to the front of Tony’s mind. A newspaper article about a mugging turned homicide where a fourteen-year-old witnessed his uncle be shot to death. Tony cleared his throat.

“One more thing before you go,” he said. Peter looked up at him, looking happy that Tony was letting his aggression go unpunished. Tony took off his sunglasses and looked at Peter directly, who seemed to realize that whatever he was about to say was serious.

“Never put yourself between me and a gun ever again.”

Peter’s jaw dropped.

“You were getting mugged,” Peter argued, uncomprehending.

“Yes, and I had it handled,” Tony said, and he had. The fact that he hadn’t been afraid until Peter had put himself in danger wasn’t relevant to the discussion.

“Mr. Stark, I can dodge a bullet. You can’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t do it again.” He grabbed the Spider-Man mask out of Peter’s hand and jammed it on his head, a little crooked.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Peter argued, but Tony was already manhandling him out of the car. “That doesn’t make any—”

“Bye, Spider-Man. Don’t get shot.” Tony slammed the door and leaned back against the headrest. He took a deep breath. “Drive, Happy,” he ordered.

They peeled away from the curb with Spider-Man still gaping after them.

 

 


	2. from falling

ii. from falling

 

Tony really, really, _really_ had not wanted to call for backup. He especially had not wanted to call on Spider-Man for backup. But after having his metal-covered butt kicked for half an hour, even he had to concede. And Spidey was closest (and the least wanted by the government, so that’s a bonus).

The problem was the robbers that he was chasing were obnoxiously well-prepared. Apparently they had assumed Iron Man would come after them and had armed themselves with EMP cannons, which made his suit basically non-functioning for up to a minute at a time. And the tech around him that wasn’t as advanced had it worse—almost the entire block they were fighting on had been blacked-out from the minute they fired the first time.

If they had just stolen money, Tony probably would have let them go by now. But instead they had robbed OsCorp and apparently stolen a chemical compound that, under the right conditions, could be a bioweapon. Which meant it was time to call in the superheroes.

Which was why, thirty-seven minutes into the fight, he was actually glad to hear the familiar “Hey, Mr. Stark!” chime out over his com.

“Hey, Spidey. Thanks for coming.” Tony fired a repulsor at the nearest thief, a rather trigger-happy woman with blonde hair. She went flying, collided with the umbrella of an outdoor café, and was quickly webbed up as Spider-Man swung up the street.

“Nice shot,” Tony said, and he could practically hear Peter’s grin over the com. “Alright, here’s the 411: don’t let them get away. And watch out for their—” Tony cut off as his own tech shorted out. He had been too absorbed in briefing the kid to take his own advice. He watched, immobile, as Peter swung and dodged and shot webbing, slowing the escaping robbers down. Of course it had occurred to Tony that Peter’s suit also ran on electricity, and would also be effected by the EMP, but it was a localized cannon, so as long as he was fast and stayed out of the direct blast, he should be ok. And Peter was _fast_.

The systems in his suit started to come back online, the HUD flickering to life. Tony started running forward. He had decided, after the first time his suit was taken out of commission and he’d crashed headfirst into an SUV, that flying was a last resort in this battle.

“-ster Stark?” Peter was saying when his com buzzed back on.

“Here, kid. As I was saying, watch out for their EMP cannon. It’s a pain in the—”

“Woah, they have an EMP cannon? That’s so cool! Ned and I built one for a science project once and we—”

“As fascinating as I’m sure that story is,” Tony called as he aimed his repulsor at a nearby truck, flipping it over and blocking the alley the three remaining thieves were trying to flee into, “maybe right now you should _focus on the bad guys_.”

“Aw, shoot, my bad,” Peter answered. “Hey, what did—” A ringing silence met Tony’s ear. He whirled around to see Peter plummeting from a roof. His web shooter had stopped working when the EMP hit him. Tony’s heart leapt into his throat, but Peter caught a window ledge and stopped his fall, not even breaking his stride as he started scrambling along the wall.

Tony took a deep breath and tried not to think about the fact that Peter may as well be in his pajamas for all the good that suit was at the moment.

The robbers made a break for another alley. Tony clanged along after them, wishing he could fly without risking injury and/or death to both himself and anyone on the street. He rounded the corner a moment after Spider-Man. Unfortunately, without his webs, he had to fight one-on-one. He was engaged with one of the men, but Peter’s style of fighting usually involved a lot of ducking and leaping out of the way of blows rather than punching. Tony knew he was a little afraid of his strength and accidentally punching someone too hard and seriously injuring them. He wanted to shout that now was not the time for Peter’s complex, but he was distracted by the sudden familiar chopping sound of rotor blades.

Tony looked up and cursed colorfully. The two that had been ahead of him had apparently made it to the roof and an escape helicopter. Honestly, Tony hated clever bad guys almost as much as stupid ones. There was no other option. Tony kicked his repulsors into life and took to the skies, chasing after the chopper. He couldn’t let that bioweapon get away.

He caught up to the helicopter easily. FRIDAY showed him where the canister was on his HUD and he plunged into the cabin. There were several moments of chaos, where the pilot tried to dislodge him by spinning crazily, the robber with the canister tried to keep it out of Tony’s hands, and Peter, who’s suit had apparently come back online, shouted in his ear about following them from the ground.

Finally, getting rather sick of this whole thing, Tony just knocked the man out and dove after the canister as it fell from the wildly corkscrewing helicopter. He caught it easily and sighed, glad this was finally over.

“Spidey, mission ac—” His com cut out. His HUD disappeared. And most importantly, his repulsors died.

Uh-oh.

He was falling, the world spinning madly below him as he plummeted, wrapped in a cocoon of metal that would do nothing to cushion him from a fall of this height. This was… far from ideal, if he was honest.

“FRIDAY, reboot,” Tony said, knowing it was in vain. “Rebooting now, please!” He yelled as the tops of the tallest buildings began to draw level.

Something slammed into him and for a moment he was confused, thinking he’d somehow hit a roof or maybe the concrete had rushed up to meet him faster than he’d thought it would and now he was dead. But then the distinct feeling of arms wrapping around his chest registered and he knew the only possible thing it could be.

Spider-Man.

“Hold on!” Tony barely heard Peter’s shout over the rush of the wind, but he responded automatically, moving his heavy limbs to wrap equally tight around Peter. “I’ve got you.”

It was probably a good thing all the air had left Tony’s lungs so he didn’t say something horribly embarrassing like, “I know,” or, “I trust you.” Instead he just held on like he was told and watched as they plummeted together.

After what felt like much, much too long—seriously, Peter, anytime you wanted to do this _saving_ thing would be fine with him—Peter unwrapped one arm from around Tony’s chest and took aim at a nearby roof. Tony immediately understood the plan, did the math in his head, just like he knew Peter was doing.

The web shot out. It attached, the line tensed, and then they were swinging like the weight at the bottom of a pendulum. Peter yelled in pain as their combined weight, and that of the Iron Man suit, tore at his shoulder. Tony gritted his teeth against the sound. Peter held on.

As they reached the peak of their swing, Peter let go, and they were falling again. Tony braced himself, knowing what was coming. They hit the roof hard, skidding several feet before rolling to stop. Peter, because he was lighter and had been on top when they’d collided with the building, rolled several feet further, flopping onto his back and groaning.

Tony echoed the groan, already feeling bruises forming and maybe a slight bump on the head, but he was alive, and that was more than he’d expected.

“You good, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, breathless from the adrenaline and the fall.

“Yeah. You?” Tony’s heart was pounding so hard he could feel the blood pulsing under every inch of skin.

“Uh-huh.”

Tony’s HUD sparked back to life.

“Typical,” he murmured. “Fri, get this thing off me.” The suit peeled arthritically away from his skin and he rolled out of it, onto his back. The sky spun a little above him when he looked up. Another thought occurred to him suddenly.

“The canister!” He jack-knifed into a sitting position and looked at Peter in horror.

“I saw it as it fell, webbed it up to a wall,” Peter said, waving his hand. His chest was still rising and falling a little too fast, but his voice was steady.

“Oh,” Tony said, suddenly feeling silly for freaking out. He leaned back on his elbows, watching Peter. Then he grinned. “Hey, Pete.”

“Yeah?”

“Nice catch.” The overlarge eyes on the Spider-Man mask blinked a couple times.

And then Peter started laughing. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and cackled aloud and soon Tony was laughing too. He laid back on the roof and laughed, a hiccuping hysterical sound, a mixture of heady adrenaline and shocked relief. They both stayed up there, laying on the roof and occasionally bursting into fits of giggles, for a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, second chapter done! I probably picked the worst possible time to start a story--I'm in my last year of grad school and working--but I have the next two chapters already written out, so I'll try to update at least every couple days or so. Let me know what you thought!


	3. from being crushed

iii. from being crushed

 

Tony knocked on the Parker’s door at 7:30 one Saturday morning. May, messy haired and pajama clad, opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you taking him out of the state?” She asked.

“Nope,” he assured her.

“Then carry on,” May said, stepping aside and waving him back to Peter’s room.

The kid was sprawled on his stomach on the bottom bunk of his bed, barely audible snores emanating from under the tangle of sheets and blankets piled on top of him. Tony hesitated in the doorway for a moment, feeling both a little guilty at disturbing Peter’s probably well deserved rest, and uncomfortably aware of how very…intimate this was. He shook himself and strode forward, clapping his hands together.

“Time to wake up, Pete! Come on!”

Peter bolted upright, only his quick reflexes saving him from smacking his head on the bunk above him. He squinted at Tony in the bright morning light pouring through his window, as if wondering if he was dreaming.

“Mr. Stark?” He croaked, rubbing at his eyes like a little kid.

“Up you get. We’ve got stuff to do today,” Tony called to him, crossing the tiny room to pull off the blankets that Peter was trying to hide back under.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Wow, I would not have pegged you as a one of those ‘mornings are of the Devil’ kind of people. I figured you were obnoxiously peppy all the time,” Tony observed, watching in amusement as Peter stood up, swayed for a second, and then yawned so widely his jaw cracked.

“It’s a Saturday,” Peter protested sullenly.

“Yes, it is!” Tony said, crossing to Peter’s dresser and pulling open a drawer. He dug through until he found a suitable t-shirt and tossed it behind him without looking, knowing Peter would catch it. He opened a couple more drawers until he found what looked like exercise clothes and threw a pair of sweats at Peter as well. “And we are going running. Get dressed,” Tony ordered, and then left, shutting the door on Peter’s questions.

 

When they left the apartment fifteen minutes later, Peter quickly changing from sleep-deprived zombie to his usual lively self, Tony directed them toward the shipping docks on the border on town.

“Why are we going there?” Peter asked, waving to a neighbor who was walking their dog.

“Because I am building you a new suit,” Tony answered.

“What? What’s wrong with my old one?”

“Just updating some features, adding a couple more protocols.” _Using sturdier materials and upgrading all your safety features_ , he didn’t add.

“Ok, cool. I mean, thanks,” Peter said, still looking a little flabbergasted. “But what does that have to do with the docks?”

“Well, I realized that, before making your old suit, I didn’t have any real baseline measurement of your abilities, apart from what I could extrapolate from the YouTube videos. So for this one I wanted to, you know, find out what I’m really working with.” Peter blinked and stared ahead for a moment. “If that’s ok with you,” Tony quickly added. He knew a couple guys who’d been lab rats, and understood that it was a sensitive subject, especially for powered people. He didn’t want Peter to feel like Cap and Banner had felt.

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. And then he seemed to jerk himself out of his thoughts, and he brightened. “Yeah, totally! I mean, I don’t even really know everything I can do. I’ve never had a chance to just experiment.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. We can put you through your paces—no suit, no tech, just your normal spider abilities. I was thinking we’d do endurance today; see how long you can run at a moderate pace, maybe test some free-running.” Tony crossed the street into the more deserted industrial part of town. “We can do strength and speed and other things later.”

“Awesome. But, shouldn’t we be doing this in a lab or something so you can see my vitals and bio-signs?” Peter asked, practically skipping after Tony.

“It’s a nice day. And besides, aren’t you supposed to take kids out for walks regularly so they don’t chew on the furniture or something?”

“That’s for dogs, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

“Close enough,” Tony said, shrugging. Peter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  Tony held out what looked like a typical jogger’s cuff, for a cell phone or something that went around the bicep. Peter took it and slipped it on, and Tony showed him how his heartbeat, breathing, and other important readings were immediately displayed on Tony’s phone.

“Ok, so should I just like… run until I’m tired and call you, or…?” Peter asked. Tony glared at him a bit.

“I’m coming with you, kid.”

“Oh.” Peter chewed his lip for a second and then decided to bite the bullet. “Like, not to suggest that you’re not in excellent shape, cause really for a man your age, you look great—” Peter faltered a bit when Tony amped up his glare even more. A ‘man his age,’ honestly. “But I have super powers and you kind of… don’t.”

“Let’s just start with an easy 5K and we’ll take it from there, ok?” Tony suggested, pursing his lips.

“Sounds good, sounds good,” Peter said, and then he took off, as if distancing himself from Tony’s displeasure might spare him. Tony huffed an annoyed breath, then grinned and ran after him.

 

They had already passed their designated three mile mark and were well into mile five when Peter skidded to a halt so suddenly Tony almost tripped over him.

“What’s wrong?” Tony panted, checking his phone screen with Peter’s readouts. Everything looked as strong and steady as it had four miles ago, but there were a few things Tony wasn’t measuring. “Are you in pain anywhere?” Tony asked, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and looking him over.

“I’m fine,” Peter said, batting his hands away while his eyes were fixed on a building over Tony’s head. “But something isn’t… isn’t right.”

“Oh.” Tony turned to look at the building. It was a typical concrete warehouse, the kind that construction companies built a ton of during an economic boom and then abandoned at the drop of a hat. It looked perfectly innocuous, but Peter was still staring at it as if petrified. A soft chime sounded, and Tony glanced down at his phone to find that Peter’s heartbeat had ratcheted up higher than it ever had while they were running.

“Ok, it’s ok,” Tony soothed. “I’ll go check it out, alright? Have FRIDAY do a quick scan, see if anyone’s in there.”

“Not by yourself,” Peter immediately protested.

“I’ll be fine, kid,” Tony said, chuckling. “I’ve been doing this almost longer than you’ve been alive.” He turned toward the building. Of course, he wasn’t all that surprised when Peter immediately followed him. He turned to look at the kid, who looked back, jaw set and eyes steely. Tony sighed. “Yeah, whatever.”

They approached silently. When they were near the door, Tony held up his phone.

“FRIDAY, scan for heat signatures.” She did, pulling up an infrared view of the building. One person was inside. Peter tensed as if his worst suspicions were confirmed. “I’ll make sure they’re ok.”

Again, Peter followed him. Tony didn’t bother arguing this time.

They found the person easily. Almost as soon as they entered they could see, between the solid support columns holding up the roof, a small array of tables and various power tools and heavy duty equipment. A man was there, slumped over in a folding metal chair.

“Hey,” Tony called, subtly positioning himself in front of Peter.

The man jerked his head up, took one look at Tony Stark, and bolted for the opposite door. Tony took three running steps, as if to give chase, and then decided against it. He’d check out whatever the man had been working on, and if it was as illegal as Tony suspected, he’d call the police.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter shouted behind him, followed almost immediately by the familiar thud of explosives being remotely triggered.

Something solid hit him in the back and he went skidding face first into the floor. The entire building was rumbling around them, the smell of dry concrete and dirt filtering around them. Tony flipped onto his back and looked up in time to see the roof above them splinter, crack, and finally crumble.

He had a final second of coherent thought left before the debris hit them. One last breath, one last moment to act, impotent as he was to do anything but grasp desperately, blindly for some impossible salvation.

Tony reached out for Peter.

His fingers snagged on fabric and he held on, the warmth of it drawing his attention away from the smell of dust and the tearing groans of bending metal and crushing sheetrock and the muffling, suffocating dark.

He might have blacked out for a moment, because in what felt like a heartbeat, the sounds ceased and even the obliviating dark seemed tinged with the tiniest breath of light. And, what drew his attention first, Peter’s sleeve was no longer clutched in his fist.

Tony inhaled and then coughed on the influx of debris. He looked around as his stinging eyes streamed, his singular, all-important thought not _What happened?_ but _Where’s Peter?_ And then, in the dim light, Tony saw him.

He looked like Atlas, Tony thought for one delirious second, holding the heavens. Peter was crouched, forced to his knees, with both hands over his head as he held the collapsed roof up. Every muscle was visibly shaking.

Peter’s eyes flicked to Tony’s for the tiniest pause between heartbeats. “Go,” he gritted out, his teeth clenched and his staccato breathing harsh and fast.

 _No_ , every molecule in Tony’s body answered. There was no chance he would leave Peter to be crushed to death under the concrete roof of an abandoned building _Tony_ had led them into.

“Peter,” Tony breathed, wanting to cry out, or maybe just cry, because he would not leave Peter here, he would stay and they would _figure it out_. They were superheroes, and geniuses, and they could _fix this,_ because that’s what Tony did—but then Peter groaned.

“Tony. Please.”

Tony swallowed, wrestled into submission whatever impossible instinct that was telling him that keeping Peter alive was more important than his own survival, and let himself be saved.

He flipped onto his stomach and scrambled forward on knees and elbows toward the tiny glimmer of light on the edge of this horizon of black. Squeezing out of the narrow gap Peter’s strength afforded him, he gasped for fresh air and blinked stars out of his vision at the burning sunlight suddenly filling his view. As soon as he was clear of danger, he looked back into the hole where Peter’s figure was barely visible.

“Ok, kid,” he called out. “What’s step two?”

There were several moments of gut-wrenching silence before he heard Peter wheeze out, “Working… on… it.”

The rubble shifted and Tony jumped, ready to spring forward, but then a familiar line of white webbing shot out and attached itself to a support column. Another shot out in the other direction.

Tony huffed out a breathy laugh of surprise. The kid was wearing his webshooters. Good boy. Two more webs came in quick succession. Tony watched, heart pounding in his ears as the ceiling slowly settled a little lower as Peter let the webs take the weight. Two more anchoring lines appeared, and then several long seconds of silence.

“Pete?”

A scuffling sound answered his query, and Tony held his breath. Sure enough, moments later, a pale, dirty hand was visible under the suspended debris. Tony grabbed the hand and pulled with all his might, and Peter came toppling out into the light. Tony sat down hard and fell back onto his hands as Peter was freed, and he stayed there, gasping as if he’d been deprived of air the whole time Peter had been trapped.  

Peter didn’t bother standing from where he’d sprawled next to Tony in the dust. He just curled on his side and sucked in breath after ragged breath. The boy was shaking like a drug addict going through withdrawals, but apart from a small bruise forming on his cheek he seemed alright. His face was streaking with dirt, broken only where sweat had washed it away.

“All good, kid?” Tony asked and then flinched a bit at how loud his voice seemed in the aftermath of the collapse.

Peter nodded, but then contradicted himself by stuttering out, “I’m really not a fan of small spaces.”

“I know.” And he did. He’d watched the footage of the elevator plunging down in the Washington Monument, seen the wreckage Peter had been trapped under after Toomes. He reached out for Peter and rested his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “It’s ok, take your time.”

Peter nodded again. His breathing started evening out after just a moment, even if his muscles still trembled from exertion. After several more deep breaths, Peter sat up, dislodging Tony’s hand.

“I’m good,” he said. “Let’s go.” Even Tony could hear the sirens as firefighters and police officers converged on the scene. Tony pulled him up, and then kept him standing when his knees gave out. They walked out slowly, with Peter’s arm over Tony’s shoulders.

Tony thought about making some quip about how they didn’t need to test Peter’s strength anymore, but he couldn’t find it in him. “You did well, kid,” he said instead. “I mean, you probably took about five years off my life, but you kept your head and thought your way out. Good work.”

Peter ducked his head, but not fast enough to hide his smile. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Come on, Peter. I think I owe you breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quickly discovered that finding reasons for Tony not to be in the suit/the suit not to be working is easily the hardest part of this story.  
> Thank you for all the lovely reviews, everyone! I hope you liked this chapter as well and I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


	4. from himself

iv. from himself

 

It was dark. Evening had morphed into night around him and he hadn’t bothered to tell FRIDAY to turn on the lights. Usually the AI would just do it herself, but Tony had told her shut off unless he needed her. He wanted to be alone.

Of course, he wasn’t quite alone. There was a single bottle of amber liquid sitting just a few feet from him, and while the object wasn’t sentient, it held all of his attention.

Tony had stopped drinking after getting together with Pepper. It had been his own choice, but she had kept him on the wagon, helped him dispose of most of the alcohol in the house. But he kept some, for parties and guests and because he didn’t want people to notice that he’d stopped drinking, didn’t want them to _ask._ And that’s what he was staring at now—the remnants of his own folly and pride.

After Pepper had left, when they split up for their ‘break,’ he’d stayed sober because he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. But today… Well. A year ago today he’d learned that James Barnes had killed his parents. A year ago today a man he considered one of his closest friends, a man he respected above almost all others, and nearly beat him to death to protect the _murderer_ he called his best friend. And a year and two days ago he’d signed the accords, and therefore had a personal hand in ripping apart the Avengers, the closest thing he’d had to a family in… possibly ever. And he just… he was so tired. He just wanted to _sleep_ and _forget_. And nothing knocked you out like one too many fifths of whiskey. And not even the thought of disappointing Pepper was enough to make him put the bottle away.

She was used to it, after all.

His throat was dry, and he swallowed hard. Just one glass would be enough, right? His tolerance was probably shot after all this time, so a little would go a long way.

The bottle was in his hand.

“Boss, Peter Parker is here,” FRIDAY said. Tony jumped, his heart hammering in surprise, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Wh-what?” he stammered and then shook his head to gather his thoughts. He put the bottle down with an unnecessarily hard thump. “Is he hurt?”

Tony stood, hurrying to the elevator, his dark thoughts evaporating behind him as FRIDAY turned on the lights.

“He does not appear to be injured.”

Confusion growing, Tony leaned against the elevator side as FRIDAY took him to whatever floor Peter was on. He couldn’t remember asking Peter to come, or Peter reporting something wrong with the suit that would need repairs. Tony’s heart was still beating faster than it should be, a mixture of worry and guilt.

The elevator doors opened when they reached the top floor and Tony stumbled out, looking around wildly, expecting to find Peter keeled over unconscious or bleeding, despite FRIDAY’s report. Instead, Peter was standing in the spacious living room, in his Spider-Man suit sans mask, looking sheepish and covered in bird feathers and… well. Other bird items.

Tony stopped short.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter greeted, rubbing the back of his neck. A stray feather was sticking out of his hair.

“What on _earth_ happened to you?” The sight was absurd, but it was also _distracting_ , and Tony welcomed it.

“I was just swinging along, looking for crime to stop when I heard someone screaming, so I look over my shoulder, but all of a sudden there were just like. Pigeons. Everywhere. Apparently a flock was flying through right then too and I hadn’t seen ‘em cause I was distracted looking for whoever was screaming.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, covering his mouth with one hand, feeling the unexpected smile forming on his face and trying to hide it. “And you scared them, hence the… droppings.”

“Nah, man, these are Queens pigeons. They’re true New Yorkers. They didn’t get scared, they got _mad_ , and they started _dive bombing_ me,” Peter said with a totally straight face, but Tony couldn’t take it anymore. He burst out laughing, so loud Peter actually jumped.

“It’s not funny, Mr. Stark,” Peter protested. “I _stink_! And the last time I went home reeking, May wouldn’t let me in the apartment, so she made me stand on the fire escape in my underwear while she dumped water over my head! In November!”

Tony clutched at his ribs, bent double as every word out of Peter’s mouth made him laugh harder. The heavy feeling that had settled in stomach the moment he woke up this morning was completely gone, replaced with a swelling warmth in his chest that he was starting to be familiar with.

“I could have gotten hypothermia, Tony!” Peter appeared to be so legitimately distressed that the whole situation seemed even funnier. Tony’s ribs were aching, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he laughed until he was breathless.

“Yes, this is hilarious,” Peter deadpanned, plucking feathers from his suit and dropping them onto the carpet. “Can I just use your shower, please?” Tony nodded, not able to breathe from laughing. He gestured for Peter to follow him and led the way to the guest bathroom on that floor, still chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Give me the suit, I’ll try-try to clean it for you,” Tony managed to get out between giggling fits, his voice higher than usual. Peter’s glower was ruined by the smile lingering on his lips, the bright gleam in his eye. He dutifully stripped off the suit and then threw it in Tony’s face before disappearing into the bathroom.

Tony left an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants by the door for Peter, and then turned his attention to the suit, which he left to soak in a specialized cleaning agent that wouldn’t mess with the tech. After that was taken care of, he wandered into the kitchen. It was late, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Suddenly hungry like he hadn’t been all day, Tony set about making spaghetti.

Peter emerged a few minutes later, damp and feather-free.

“Hungry?” Tony asked when he saw him.

“Most of the time,” Peter said, not commenting on the late hour, just settling himself at the counter and watching Tony cook.

“Good, cause I made a lot.” Tony served up the spaghetti and they both ate ravenously, talking about Peter’s suit and people he’s helped recently and his school and whatever else they wanted to talk about. Tony transferred the suit to the dryer and came back to find Peter doing the dishes. Instead of telling him to not worry about it, someone else would do them tomorrow, Tony grabbed a dishtowel and started drying.

“Thanks for the shower, Mr. Stark. And the food,” Peter said, after he’d changed into his now clean and dry suit. He handed back the clothes he’d borrowed.

“Anytime,” Tony said, not looking at Peter so he couldn’t see quite _how much_ he meant it in his eyes. Tony allowed himself to reach out and ruffle Peter’s hair before the kid pulled the mask on, and then he watched Spider-Man swing off into the night.

Tony stared after him for a long moment, and then he yawned. He was full, and sleepy, and a pleasant warmth still lingered in his chest.

“Night, Fri,” he called, heading toward his bedroom.

And even he had to admit, one good thing had happened a year ago. He had met Peter.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Tony probably hasn't stopped drinking as he mentions having a drink in the Avengers and everyone's drinking in Age of Ultron, but he's definitely cut back, but... alcoholics don't cut back. They stop. Or they keep drinking. So, in my optimistic opinion, Tony stopped, because that's what's good for him.   
> Also, I've responded to several of the more effusive comments, just because it means so much to me that you guys would take the time to leave detailed reviews like that. I probably won't get around to responding to all of the comments you all have left, but just know that I appreciate every single one, even if it's only a word long, and want to thank you all so much for reading and letting me know that you enjoy the story!


	5. from poison

v. from poison

 

To give himself at least some credit, Tony figured it was a trap from the moment he got the phone call. The woman on the other end requested to meet at an office building, telling him that she had important information for him, but refused to give any more details. The meeting was in an hour. Suspicious to say the least. But he couldn’t _not go_ , so he suited up and flew over, thinking that even on the very off chance this wasn’t a trap, a little intimidation never hurt anyone.

He entered the office space in full armor. There was a woman standing there, holding a file. Apart from her, the entire floor was empty, devoid of desks, chairs, and any other people. When no one started shooting at him, Tony let the helmet of the Iron Man suit retract.

“How did you—” Tony started to ask, and then cut off when he felt a prick in his neck.

Oh, crap.

He whirled to find the second person, a young man with unremarkable features and a syringe in his hand. Tony fired his repulsor, sending him flying backward to smash into the wall and slump to the floor. He turned back to the woman, but his vision was spinning, darkening around the edges. The woman was standing calmly, watching with an almost scientific interest. Tony lifted his arm, but it felt impossibly heavy, and he dropped it quickly. He took a step. His knees gave out and he crumpled. His vision went black.

 

He woke in the dark. He’d been stripped of his armor. Which meant the woman and whoever she’d been working with had a seriously good hacker on their team, in order to ride the multiple protocols preventing that.

Tony was surprised to find that he wasn’t bound. But then he moved, and the reason why was obvious. Fire erupted in every cell of his body, whiting out his vision for a moment as he gasped in agony. Well, then. He was dying. That was a fairly good reason to not waste quality rope.

Despite the pain, Tony reached for his wrist, only to find that his watch had been taken too. And his earpiece. Heart beating fast, faster than even adrenaline and fear could explain, Tony stopped moving and took stock.

He’d been poisoned, that was fairly obvious by the white spots dancing in his eyes, the pain radiating through his body, and the way his heart seemed to be trying to escape from his chest. He’d also been moved, he realized now that his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. The room he was in was non-descript, but fairly large. There were no windows to hint at the time or place. As far as he knew, he wasn’t even in New York anymore. And the most disturbing part was that he’d been stranded. No suit, no way to contact FRIDAY to send another suit.

He was going to die.

Except… there was a lump in his jeans pocket. Slowly, eyes watering from pain despite himself, Tony reached for the object, shaking fingers numbly grasping at it and… what? There was no way whoever had attacked him would be so thorough as to remove his earbud, but leave him his cell phone.

And yet, there it was, his own personal cell phone, specially modified and everything.

He called 911 first.

“911, what is your emergency?” A man answered, voice level and calm. He sounded young.

“I’ve been poisoned. I don’t know how long ago or with what.” Talking was difficult, took all his concentration, but it didn’t hurt and Tony was stupidly relieved at that.

“What is your location, sir?” The guy asked.

“I don’t know,” Tony groaned. “You can’t track my phone. I’ll… what’s your name?”

“Sir, that isn’t important right now.”

“I’ll send you my location, I just need your name.” Tony was already putting the call on speaker, taping frantically at his phone. He’d designed it to be untraceable. In hindsight, that was a bad move, but he had assumed he’d always have FRIDAY and wouldn’t need something as mundane as a GPS on his phone.

“It’s Daniel.” He said after a long moment. “Daniel Bell.”

Tony finally managed to track down his GPS location. It was a fairly simple matter. If you’re a genius who designed your own cell phone. He also found Daniel Bell online—job, birthday, email, phone number—with just a few presses of buttons.

“Daniel. My name’s Tony. I just texted you my coordinates.”

“Ho—Nevermind. I received them, Tony. I have an ambulance on route to your location.”

“Thanks,” Tony breathed out. Then he hung up so Daniel wouldn’t hear him throwing up.

Maybe not the smartest move, but it’s not like he was going anywhere. The ambulance would find him. If he was lucky, they would find him before whatever poison was in his system stopped his heart, but… he wasn’t usually very lucky.

Alone, in the dark, with his only task complete, Tony allowed himself to think.

After New York (and even thinking it had goosebumps erupting along his arms), Tony had recorded videos for Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy just in case he didn’t come home from his latest mission. It was sappy and uncharacteristically sentimental, but they’d stuck by him for years. They deserved a proper goodbye. He could die knowing that at least his loved ones knew how much he cared and appreciated them. So there was nothing to do now, apart from keep breathing. He didn’t need to call anyone and endure the fearful attempts to get to him. Except…

Grasping at his phone once more, Tony squinted at the bright screen and found the number he was looking for.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter answered on the third ring. Tony put the call on speaker and let his head fall back onto the floor.

“Hey, Peter.” He considered spilling the whole story. He considered sending his location to the kid, asking for Peter to come find him, for Peter to alert Happy or Rhodes, or _anything_ really. But… they’d left him his phone. Whoever had done this had been smart enough to take his suit, had known to take his watch and his earpiece, to move him, to disorient him. Tony seriously doubted that they’d left his phone by accident. They were waiting for him to call for help, to lure another superhero in here and probably do the same thing to them.

Maybe they even wanted Spider-Man specifically. Iron Man had fought with him multiple times in the past few months, and the stories of Spider-Man saving him from the muggers and the fall had gotten out and were widely covered by the news. A lot of people assumed that Tony knew the hero’s real identity.

This might be a trap for Spider-Man. Tony could be the bait.

He couldn’t tell him.

“What’s up?” Peter asked. They talked more now than they had before Toomes, but Tony still didn’t usually call for no reason. He thought about hanging up, but…. he was dying. This was probably the last time he’d ever talk to Peter and, as selfish as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to cut it short. “Mr. Stark, are you there?”

Tony scrambled for something to say. Then he remembered the date.

“It, uh… it looks like I’m not going to be reachable for a little while,” Tony said, wincing at his own words. Peter was going to hate him if he ever found out what was really happening. “So I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday a couple days in advance.”

“Oh, wow,” Peter said over the line. Tony could hear the smile in his voice, and smiled himself. Even that tiny movement hurt. “That’s—thank you, Mr. Stark. That… means a lot, that you would remember.”

“’Course I remembered. I’ve got a present for you, I’ll make sure it gets delivered on Thursday.” He’d been looking forward to seeing Peter’s reaction to the top of the line lightsaber replica himself. Tony swallowed hard, forcing both the lump in his throat and the bile crawling up his esophagus back down. Oh, gosh, his heart was _pounding_.

“You didn’t have to get me anything!” Peter protested quickly, and Tony pulled himself back into the moment, focusing solely on Peter’s voice and nothing else.

“Yeah, well, you’re really bad at taking full advantage of the whole ‘billionaire as a mentor’ thing, so I’m doing it for you,” Tony said. He huffed a small laugh, but instantly regretted it. The motion sent another crippling wave of pain coursing through his body. He couldn’t quite stifle his groan.

“Woah, hey, are you ok?” Peter asked. Shoot. Super-hearing.

“Fine, Pete,” Tony gasped out, but his voice sounded off even to his own ears.

“You don’t sound fine, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s voice was harder now, certain. Man, the kid was stubborn.

“I…” Tony cut off. He vomited as silently as he could, but he was sure Peter still heard it.

“Where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony panted. He laid his head back down, feeling dizzy.

“I’m coming,” Peter said. “Tell me where you are.” There was rustling in the background of the call, quick breaths, like Peter was running.

“No, no, don’t,” Tony said. He knew he should just hang up the phone, but there was one more thing he wanted to say. “Peter, listen.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Peter.” Tony swallowed. Even dying, he wasn’t good at this. “I’m proud of you.”

The breaths stopped short for a second. “Karen,” he heard Peter say over the line. His voice was shaking. “Trace the call. Now.”

Tony ploughed on, spitting out sentences between harsh coughs and waves of agony. “I know I told you… that I wanted you to be better—”

“Don’t do this, Mr. Stark. I’m coming, I’m going to find you. Just tell me where you are, Karen can’t—”

“But you already are so much better than me. You’re so good.”

“Tony. _Please_ ,” Peter begged, his voice breaking.

“You’re going to be the best of us, Peter,” Tony said. His fingers and toes were numb, his entire body alternating between freezing and burning. “Just… take care of yourself, kid.”

“Tony!” Peter screamed over the line. “Tony, I’m coming, hold on, ple—”

Tony ended the call.

The next few minutes were lost to agony and regret that he hadn’t let himself feel earlier. He should have married Pepper sooner, he should have called Steve, he should have told Rhodey how much his support mattered. He should have given Peter all the time and attention he deserved.

His vision faded to black and he fell, almost gratefully, into unconsciousness.

 

 

He woke to light and sound and warmth. And still more than a little pain, but it was less like fire consuming him and more like sore muscles, an almost pleasant ache.

And Peter at his bedside.

He was slumped in his chair, a book open in his lap, but he was staring at the wall. Tony opened his mouth to speak and Peter looked over, hearing the change in his breathing. They made eye contact and Tony’s words were lost suddenly in his throat. Peter didn’t say anything.

A nurse entered and Tony jumped.

“Mr. Stark, it’s very good to see you awake,” she said, smiling. He didn’t say anything. “That poison, whatever it was, did some rather severe damage, but it will all heal with a little time.”

“You don’t know what it was?” He asked. His voice was wrecked, which made him wonder if he’d screamed and hadn’t realized it. She handed him a cup of water, but he brushed it away. “How did you cure it?”

“We separated the invasive molecules from your blood and created an antidote from that,” she explained. Her badge said her name was Charlotte, Tony noted blankly as he stared at her.

“That’s… brilliant,” Tony admitted.

“It was Spider-Man’s idea,” Charlotte said offhandedly as she examined the machines he was connected to.

“Spider-Man,” Tony repeated, looking at Peter. The kid glanced at him so fast Tony almost missed it, and then turned his attention back to the book he wasn’t reading.

“Yes, he was there when we arrived, helping you through your seizure.”

“I had a seizure?” Tony asked. He really need to stop looking at Peter, it was rather suspicious, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“It’s a common side effect of poisoning,” Charlotte assured him. She stayed for another moment, and then excused herself, informing him that his doctor would be in in a few minutes.

Tony watched Peter, who was very carefully not looking at him. The kid was pale and disheveled. Tony cleared his throat and he flinched.

“How did you even find me?” Tony said, sounding resigned.

“I could hear ships in the background of your call, and the way your voice echoed meant you were in an enclosed space,” Peter said, staring down at the blanket spread over Tony’s lap. “Once I got within two miles, I could hear you… um… screaming.”

It was Tony’s turn to flinch.

“That was really clever,” he said, desperately wanting to change the subject. “Making the antidote from the poison in my blood. I thought you were a physics nerd, not biology.” Apparently joking was the wrong thing to do, because Peter finally looked at him, jaw tight and lips pursed.

“I would have found you earlier if you’d just told me where you were. The ambulance could find you, you obviously had GPS coordinates. I could have been there so much faster, I could have spared you from the worst of it,” Peter snapped, glaring at him.

“It might have been a trap,” Tony protested.

“It was. So what.”

“What?” Tony gasped, sitting up and then groaning. Peter’s hands shot out, but didn’t touch him. Tony lowered himself back onto the pillows. “What do you mean ‘it was?’”

“It was an ambush. They were waiting for me. Karen warned me before I got within a block of the building and I took them all out before they even knew what was happening. They’re in police custody right now,” Peter rambled, sounding annoyed at the diversion, like he wanted to get back to yelling at Tony.

Tony, for his part, just gaped at Peter. “Oh,” he finally mumbled.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Peter said. “But you thought it was, what, too much for me? Thought I couldn’t handle it?”

“No, Pete,” Tony started, but Peter plowed over him, standing and pacing in his agitation.

“So you just decided you would die, rather than let me come help you. That’s what kills me, Mr. Stark—” Tony noticed that he wasn’t ‘Tony’ anymore. He wondered if that was because he wasn’t dying, or because Peter was mad at him. “Is that you did exactly what you’re constantly lecturing me about. You always, always say to call for backup if I need it, that I need to know my limits, but you literally _called me_ , and still didn’t tell me you needed help. Instead, you just—” Peter broke off, taking a ragged breath. When Tony looked up, his eyes were bright with tears. “You just called and what? Tried to say goodbye?”

Tony watched as Peter gritted his teeth and looked away, trying to reign in his emotions.

“You’re right,” he croaked. Peter sniffed, still not looking at him. “You’re right, Peter. That was really sucky. I’m sorry.”

Peter sat tiredly back in his chair, rubbing his face. “You scared the crap out of me,” Peter finally sighed.

“I thought that was my line,” Tony said. Peter huffed an exasperated breath and finally looked at him. He seemed to be more in control now.

“Just let me help you next time,” Peter pleaded.

Tony swallowed. If it was Peter or him, he’d choose Peter every time. But he nodded, and gave a small smile. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about science. If someone you know has been poisoned, please do not attempt to make an antidote by extracting the poison from their blood ;)  
> Alright, one more chapter to go. Let me know what you thought!


	6. from electrocution

i. from electrocution

 

It was raining, because the universe had it out for him. As, apparently, did one William Holt—a thirty-nine year old electrical engineer who, in Tony’s opinion, had been exposed to high voltage a few too many times. How else could he reasonably blame Tony for his own experimentation going haywire and killing his wife?  

And so, William had broadcasted a video across New York, threatening to electrocute an entire Manhattan block unless Tony gave him the designs to the arc reactor.  

Which obviously wasn’t going to happen, so now Tony was flying toward a large apartment building where the signal was originating.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!”

Tony almost fell out of the sky as Peter’s voice came over his comm.

“Uh, no way. Get the heck out of here, kid,” Tony said, recovering quickly.

“But he’s threatening you!” Peter interjected. He finally appeared in Tony’s scope, swinging from building to building in the same direction Tony was going.

“Yeah, _me_. Not you. So go back to school, or decathlon practice or something.”

“Mr. Star—”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Peter,” Tony warned. Ugh, he sounded just like his father. The kid didn’t turn around.

“Peter, I will call May.” There was a moment of fuming silence. The apartment building was in sight, topped by the blue glow of electricity.

“People could die, Mr. Stark,” Peter finally bit out. Tony sighed. The boy was simultaneously as righteous as Captain America and as stubborn as, well, Tony himself.

“We’re not charging in guns blazing, alright?” Tony finally conceded. Peter didn’t say anything, but Tony could see him fist-pump. Despite immediately regretting his decision, Tony continued. “I’m going to go talk to him, you’re going to go help with evacuating the block. If things start to go south, I’ll call you in.”

“Sounds good, sounds good,” Peter agreed quickly. Tony watched as he changed direction, going instead toward the ground where police officers were trying to get people out of the targeted area.

Tony continued on, flying once around the building to get a good look at what he was up against. It looked like a bomb, but it’s main power source was a glowing sphere of light that looked eerily similar to the arc reactor Tony had built in captivity. With that in mind, he landed in front of the man standing on the roof.

“FRI, I want everything you can tell me about that device,” he murmured before turning his attention to his extortioner.

William Holt was dripping wet, his short blond hair plastered to his forehead as he watched Tony land. There was a tense moment as they stared at each other, and then Tony raised his visor and said, sincerely, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. William’s hands curled into fists and he snarled.

“The _only_ reason I haven’t killed you already, Stark, is because you have something I need. So,” William said, holding out his hands in a ‘hand it over’ gesture, “the designs. Give them to me.”

“You know that’s not why I came here,” Tony said. He wasn’t the best at the diplomatic part of being a hero. He was a ‘ready, fire, aim’ kind of guy. But he was trying to get better after the disaster over the Accords, which he fully admits could have been at least improved if he and Steve had sat down and had a conversation with words rather than fists. “I can’t give you the arc reactor designs. You know that.”

William was shaking with fury, and probably cold. The glowing blue of the bomb was bright against the dark, cloudy sky. “I know you _won’t_ , because if you did you would lose the monopoly on the market and therefore lose money. And that’s all you care about, isn’t it, Iron Man?” The man was slowly circling around closer to the device. Tony watched him, wary, but knowing he could move faster if William decided to attack.

“If this was just about money, I would have handed the designs over years ago. But we both know clean energy isn’t the only thing an arc reactor can be used for.”

William looked almost hungrily at Tony’s suit, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This was going to get nasty fast.

“Arc reactor technology is _dangerous_ ,” Tony said, impeaching.

“Yes,” William grinned. “It is.” And then he hit a button and electricity shot from the device, sending wild bolts of energy snapping in every direction. At least two hit Tony and the lights on his HUD flashed dizzyingly, but the Iron Man suit was well insulated and Tony felt none of it. He lifted one arm and fired at William, who managed to dodge the worst of the blast.

Tony flew off, out of the range of the device.

“FRIDAY, give me specs.” Immediately, half a dozen schematics of the device pulled up. He looked at them with one eye and watched Holt scramble to his feet with the other.

“It appears to be a crude attempt at an arc reactor. It can emit controlled pulses of electricity. He’s using a nickel-rhodium alloy as his conductor, but it’s becoming unstable quickly. If it dissolves, the energy within the device will be uncontrollable and will emit up to ten billion volts of electricity over a radius of half a mile.”

“So, basically, it’s bad news,” Tony said, blasting at Holt again as the man appeared to be tinkering with the bomb.

“Yes, Boss. It needs to be shut down before it goes critical.”

“And how long will that be?” Tony asked, then dove as arcs of light shot towards him. Apparently William could direct it now. Great.

“T-minus five minutes,” FRIDAY reported. Tony groaned and then sighed.

“Fine. Turn on comms.” He waited a moment, until he heard Peter’s babble on the other end as the kid talked to his AI. He always forgot to turn off his two-way comm.

“Alright, Underoos. Looks like we’re up,” Tony interrupted.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter said, sounding surprised. “I’ll be right up.”

“Keep a bit of distance actually, guy’s got a lightning rod and is eager to fry some heroes,” Tony advised, swooping toward the roof again. He couldn’t just fire at the device, energy plus energy usually didn’t end well. But he could keep William from triggering the bomb as he’d threatened and frying more than just a couple of superheroes.

“Got it,” Peter answered. “So what’s the plan?”

Tony quickly explained the device and the time frame.

“So, question for the class. How do you kill a battery, if waiting for it to die isn’t an option?” Tony posed. Peter answered immediately.

“You overload it.”

“Top marks, Mr. Parker,” Tony said, glad his mask hid his smile. Peter was swinging around the building, webbing basically whatever he could see, but William was now hiding underneath the device, so unless they wanted to blast through it, all they could do was circle and watch.

“Second question: how do we do that when the battery also happens to be a deadly bomb?”

Peter was quiet for a second, which Tony was expecting, because _he_ was still figuring out a solution, but then Peter said, “If we can route the energy through your arc reactor in addition to the nickel conductor, it should overwhelm the lesser metal while containing the explosive fallout.”

Tony was honestly so surprised he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Or I mean, if that wouldn’t work—” Peter hastily started stuttering.

“No, no, no!” Tony was quick to assure. “That’s a good suggestion. Can you keep him occupied while I plug in?”

“’Course!” Peter immediately dove toward the roof. Tony followed straight after, waiting just long enough for Peter to thoroughly distract William before landing in front of the device and getting to work executing Peter’s plan.

He had the necessary wires hooked into his suit and was slowly starting to amp up the amount of energy feeding into the circuit when Peter shouted. Tony immediately looked toward him, expecting to find him injured in some way, only to see William fiddling with the controls on the device. In the space of a heartbeat, Peter fired a web, Tony reached out as if to stop the inevitable, and Holt shoved every lever into the danger zone.

Electricity shot straight through the suit and into Tony. Every muscle seized so violently he couldn’t even open his mouth to scream.

And then hands were tearing at the wires in his chest plate, pulling them away, a young voice gasping and yelling in pain. There was a moment of relief that was such in sharp contrast to the lightning running through his veins it was almost painful, and then a pop, a jolting bang, and the world exploded. Tony was falling. And through his watering half-lidded eyes, he could see Peter falling, too.

Tony was too dazed to control his suit, but FRIDAY took over, slowing his descent with sputtering repulsors. He still landed hard on the watery pavement, hard enough to knock any remaining breath from his lungs and make the stars spinning in front of his eyes twirl faster.

The moment he had enough breath, Tony gasped, “Peter?”

“Fine, Boss. His parachute deployed.” Breathing came a little easier.

“What happened?” Oh, lord, everything ached.

“Two wires crossed and created a small scale event similar to what will happen if the bomb goes off.”

“It’s still active?” Tony asked, disbelieving. It had just exploded and it was still working. Tony really did have the worst luck. “But the core was nearly depleted _before_ I started flooding it with power. How long have I got?”

“One minute until it goes critical,” FRIDAY informed, sounding almost panicked.  

Tony pushed himself up, muscles spasming. “Full power to thrusters.”

“Power is at eleven percent.”

“Use reserves,” Tony snapped. His head was spinning, and only the suit’s advanced viewing capabilities allowed him to see the glow on top of the building through the pouring rain.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said. “The insulation of the armor is damaged. If you take another hit, the suit won’t stop it.”

“I know.”

Even if Tony could stop the device, he wouldn’t be able to reach the minimum safe distance before the collapse of the energy field sent out enough amps to stop a man’s heart. And the suit wouldn’t protect him. It was him, or every person in a square mile. There was no decision.

He prepared to fly when suddenly a large glob of white goo flew across his vision and attached his foot to the concrete below. Another glob stuck to his other foot. _No_.

“Peter,” Tony said. It took less than a second for what was happening to register in his mind, another heartbeat for Tony to understand _why_. “Don’t.”

Spider-Man appeared in front of him. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said. There was a lilt to his voice that Tony had heard before, a guilty yet unrepentant tone that meant that Peter was about to do something unbelievably stupid. His mask was covering his face, but Tony could see the curve in his cheeks that meant Peter was smiling, and Tony was familiar with that, too, that apologetic half-smile that had recently started making his stomach twist.

And then, just like Tony knew he would, Peter swung off, toward the tower that Holt was occupying.

“Peter!” Tony shouted, not even caring that he’d used Spider-Man’s real name. Between the fight and the rain, the whole block was deserted, anyway. Tony engaged his thrusters, but the webbing didn’t so much as bend.

Tony had invented a serum that dissolved Peter’s webs on contact, born of necessity after one too many incidents in the lab. But he didn’t have any _with_ him, because he had never imagined a scenario in which Peter would use his webbing against him.

There was a nearly blinding flash of blue light as Peter engaged William.

Tony swore aloud, and then again for good measure.

“Ok,” he mused to himself, thinking fast. “Give me a laser.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted as Tony prepped his wrist laser. “That can cut through your armor. If you miss—”

“I’ll be careful, then!” Tony snapped. He might be singing a different tune when he’s limping around short a toe or two, but right now his only priority was getting to Peter.

It seemed like an agonizingly slow process. The laser cut through the webs, but in a smoldering, smoking, oozing way—geez, Tony really needed to install a knife in his suit. He could faintly hear the sounds of battle above him, see the glow of light waxing and waning, reflected on the wet pavement.

“Three seconds ‘til the device is activated,” FRIDAY said.

“Come on,” Tony quietly pleaded with the webbing. “One last…” The laser melted the last of the goo off with a gurgling hiss.

“Full power to thrusters,” Tony ordered, not taking any time to celebrate his success. And then—

The world erupted into blinding white as the device seemed to supernova. The shock wave crashed into Tony, and he stumbled back a few steps.

Ears ringing, blinking stars and tears out of his eyes, Tony looked up. “No,” he murmured. “ _No_.”

Tony knew that the device was shut down in time, by virtue of the simple fact that he wasn’t dead, but, on second thought, he was not entirely sure he wasn’t, because _Peter was up there, and Peter_ couldn’t _be dead_ , because Tony had _promised_ … but he was here and—

There was a small figure falling, white arcs of electricity still crackling around the thin frame.

Tony was in the air without another thought, tracking the boy’s descent, calculating without really thinking about it where to intercept him.

Tony caught Peter around the waist and clutched him close. The energy still working its way through Peter’s body sparked into his armor, making it crackle and hiss, making Tony’s fingers go numb. He landed roughly, crashing to his knees as the armor all but gave out.

Peter was spasming slightly as Tony laid him on the ground. Was nausea a symptom of electrocution? Because Tony felt like he was going to throw up.

“Is his heart beating?” Tony demanded, “FRI, his heart—”

“His pulse is arrhythmic and tachycardic, but his heart is beating. Defibrillation might be necessary if it doesn’t even out.”

Oh, gosh, he couldn’t stop shaking. “He has a defibrillator in his—”

“His suit’s fried, Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted. “And his heartbeat is getting more erratic.”

Tony cursed colorfully, thinking fast. “Get this suit off,” he commanded. “Get it off now!”

The suit sparked as it pulled away and immediately Tony was being pelted with icy rain. Tony gasped in surprise at the cold, but it seemed to pull him out of his spiraling panic. He reached into the chest plate, tearing at the metal with his bare fingers, snagging wires from the insides of his Iron Man armor and pulling them until they came loose on one end.

“Ok, kid, this is going to hurt,” Tony warned as he stripped the wires, tiny shocks of electricity biting at his fingers. He twisted the exposed ends together and pressed them above Peter’s heart. “FRI, charge it.”

Tony could hear the power being diverted from every other inch of his suit, and then the wires were spitting sparks in the rain as power transferred from Tony’s suit to Peter’s heart. The young superhero twitched, violently, and Tony yanked the wires away, his own heart skipping several beats as he waited for FRIDAY to speak.

“His pulse is levelling out.”

“And he’s breathing? Check his breathing.” Tony was barely breathing, but that was fine, everything would be _fine_ as long as Peter was still alive, _please, please let him still be alive._

He reached out and pressed a trembling hand to Peter’s chest. It rose and fell in shallow pants, but it was enough.

Tony exhaled a sigh of pent up anxiety and hung his head in relief.

“Keep a readout of his vitals on my watch,” Tony instructed. The kid would need an MRI and an EKG to make sure no lasting damage had been done to his heart or brain, but right now he was alive. Tony could fix anything else. 

“Make any working security cameras on this block go dark,” Tony instructed FRIDAY. He needed to see Peter’s face.

“Done, boss.”

Tony reached out and pulled off Peter’s mask. His eyes were closed, but the rain seemed to wake him up as it hit his face, because he inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open.

“Woah,” Tony soothed as Peter jolted, trying to sit up. “It’s ok, kid, it’s over.”

Peter squinted at him through the pouring rain. “Mr. Stark,” he breathed. “Did I get it in time?”

“Yeah, Pete. You did.”

Peter dropped his head back against the concrete, sending up a small splash of water. His entire body seemed to relax with the news, as if that had been the only important thing in the world. Tony kept one eye on the kid and one on the bpm and respiratory rate displayed on his watch, both numbers slowing back down to Peter’s normal pace.

And this was the part, Tony knew, where he was supposed to lecture. Where he had the adult responsibility of telling Peter that what he had done was stupid, and reckless, and immature. That Peter needed to keep his nose out of things that didn’t concern him and let Tony handle it. That when Tony told him to sit it out, Peter didn’t get to argue and charge in to battle anyway. That Peter was absolutely, irrevocably _forbidden_ from using his webs against Tony, from stopping Tony from doing his duty, ever again.

But Peter was there, whole and alive and relieved that no one else had gotten hurt, and he was young and naïve and good. And Tony would have done the exact same thing. And he knew, in a strangely powerful, gut-instinct kind of way, that Peter would never stop, that no amount of yelling, or punishment, or guilt-tripping would ever stop Peter from making that decision again and again.

And Tony wouldn’t want him to.

Even if sitting there watching Peter struggle to get his breathing under control and pretending his own heart wasn’t still beating treacherously fast was almost physically painful.

Finally, after a long moment, where they’re both soaked through with rain and Peter has started shivering from cold and a post-adrenal crash, Peter opened his eyes and saw Tony watching him. He sat up slowly.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Peter said, quiet and audacious at the same time.

“I know,” Tony admitted. “As much as I hate it, I know.”

Peter looked down at that, the barest trace of hurt flashing across his face. Tony sighed, reached forward and wrapped Peter in his arms.

“Tony?” Peter asked, unmoving. “Is this a hug?”

“Yeah, I think we’re there now.” Peter’s hair was wet and cold against Tony’s cheek, but he didn’t move.

Peter hiccuped a laugh, and then wrapped his arms around Tony and hugged him back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. First off, apologies. I know I warned that updates might be sporadic, but posting five chapters in five days and then disappearing for over three weeks was not cool. I can't even blame grad school, merely that flighty mistress, inspiration. I just honestly didn't know what to write. I hope this chapter at least in some part makes up for that. 
> 
> Second, you all really have been so great and I wanted to say one last thank you for taking the time to read my story and to leave kudos and all the lovely comments. Cheers.


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